Descending the mountain passes, they followed the Ravenswood Spur through dark forests and shaded hills until they were a stone’s throw from a snowy riverbank. Shortly after noon, Max was sitting next to Skeedle in the driver’s seat when the goblin called out for his cousin to halt.
“It’s too quiet,” Skeedle whispered. “No birds, no foxes … not even a wolf has come sniffing after us and you know how they crave goblin! We’re but two wagons and there have been no bandits or highwaymen. It’s not natural. Th-there’s something out here and it’s watching us. I think it’s been with us since the mountains. My mind’s playing tricks—I’m seeing things in the trees and rocks. Faces.” The little goblin was absolutely trembling. Mopping his forehead, he peered up at Max with an expression of shameful desperation. Tears formed in his shiny black eyes. “I—I don’t know if I can go any farther,” he stammered. “I thought I’d be brave enough, but the Spur’s not like what I expected. The sooner I go home, the happier I’ll be. Would you think I’m a coward if I turn back?”
“No,” said Max gently. “I think you’ve already taken on more than I had a right to ask. Let’s give the mules a rest while I talk to David and Toby.”
While Skeedle and Kolbyt fed the mules and tinkered with the wagon, Max explained the situation to the others. Consulting his map, David glanced at the river and traced his finger on the parchment.
“I think that river’s the former Vistula,” he said. “We have maybe another seventy or eighty miles to Piter’s Folly. We can go on alone if Toby thinks he’s gotten enough information from Kolbyt.”
“I know everything he knows—or at least everything he can recall,” Toby sniffed. “Broadbrim clan lore ad nauseam, their history with Madam Petra, how to enter Piter’s Folly, et cetera, et cetera. I’m a certified expert on everything that rattles around that goblin’s head, and I’ll confess there’s a great deal I’d rather not know. He’s indecent.”
“So Toby can bluff his way in,” Max concluded. “But how are we going to get in to see her?”
“Toby’s been studying Kolbyt, but I’ve been studying Toby,” David revealed. “A smee’s greatest skill is his ability to mimic another creature’s aura. I think I can create an illusion that will do the same. We’re going to become goblins, Max. I’ll be Skeedle and you’ll be our bodyguard. Choose a name.”
“Hrunta, I guess,” said Max, recalling a thuggish Broadbrim he’d once met. “But I don’t speak goblin.”
“Relax,” said David. “Nobody bothers speaking to the bodyguard; just grunt. Toby, see if you can become Kolbyt.”
“I shall relish the change,” declared the hag.
A moment later, Kolbyt stood next to them—complete with the goblin’s hat, leather armor, wolf pelts, and iron-soled shoes. Max pinched the pelt between his fingers.
“How do you do that?” he wondered. “Do you just create the clothes out of thin air?”
“Ouch!” exclaimed Toby, swatting his hand. “No, I do not—you are ruining the elasticity of my magnificent epidermis. Everything you see is smee. In fact—OH!”
The startled smee backed away from him. Max was puzzled until David handed him a mirror. Within its surface, he did not see his own face but that of a toady-faced goblin with a forelock of black hair and a lipless mouth that stretched from ear to ear. As Max smiled, the ghastly reflection did likewise, revealing several rows of sharp, mossy incisors.
“Is that really you?” Toby whispered.
“Of course it’s me,” Max laughed. He did not feel any different; looking down, he saw his same hand and the same Red Branch tattoo. But Cooper had taught Max that mirrors reflect all illusions, and according to this mirror, others would see Max as a barrel-chested Broadbrim with clay-colored skin and bloodshot eyes.
Toby leaned forward and sniffed him. “David,” he exclaimed, “you’ve created an illusion that’s … that’s almost smee-worthy!”
“Yes,” said David thoughtfully. “I think I have. Let’s—”
A faint tremor shook the earth, causing the mules to stamp and bray. Skeedle shrieked and hurried back to them, spilling oats from his canvas sack. He stopped dead at the sight of them.
“Wh-where’s Max?” he gasped. “What have you done with him?”
“I’m right here, Skeedle,” said Max calmly. The goblin merely gaped. “It’s just an illusion. You and Kolbyt can head back now. Which wagon should we take?”
“Th-the big one,” replied the goblin, still staring suspiciously. Summoning his courage, he darted forward and poked Max on the shoulder.
“It’s really me,” said Max, smiling.
“You even sound … and smell like a Broadbrim!” whispered the goblin.
“Music to my ears. You’ll be okay on the road back?”
“I think so,” the goblin chirped. “If trouble comes, I’ll run. I don’t need to run fast, just faster than Kolbyt.” Skeedle grinned, revealing six sharp teeth as he hugged Max. Turning, he barked out something to his cousin, who gazed over, grunted dully at the new disguises, and began transferring crates to the larger wagon. Taking Max’s arm, Skeedle walked him over to the mules, explaining their individual temperaments and quirks.
“And don’t hold the reins too tight,” he cautioned. “Petunia has a sore tooth. When you’re done with them, sell them to someone kind. Or just set them loose. They know the way home.”
“Got it,” said Max. He turned to Toby, who was already sitting up in the driver’s seat. “Do you know our inventory?”
“To the ounce and ingot,” sighed the smee. “Kolbyt might be dense, but not when it comes to what his cousin borrowed. He recited it in his sleep.”
“I guess this is it, then, Skeedle,” said Max, shaking the goblin’s hand. “Thank you for all your help. I expect the next time I see you, you’ll be sitting on Plümpka’s throne.”
“Maybe.” Skeedle blushed, removing his hat and twiddling his fingers. “If he doesn’t eat me first.”
While Kolbyt turned the smaller wagon about, the rest of the group said their goodbyes. Upon seeing David take his own guise, Skeedle clapped and circled the sorcerer to assess him from various angles. Satisfied, the goblin hopped aboard Kolbyt’s wagon and waved his hat farewell. Shaking the reins, Kolbyt barked impatiently at the mules and the cousins began their long, clopping journey back to Broadbrim Mountain.
“A prince among goblins,” Max remarked, climbing up into the driver’s seat next to Toby.
“You set a rather low bar,” scoffed Toby, sounding peevish. “Your ‘prince’ just left us in the middle of nowhere with four gassy mules and no more chocolate. Meanwhile, the thankless smee remains steadfast after serving as a steed, masquerading as a hag, and suffering that brute’s attentions.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” said Max. “Kolbyt said he just wanted to look at you.”
“He was not a goblin of his word.”
As they drove on, however, Max had to admit that Skeedle’s fears seemed justified. There did appear to be something sinister to the landscape, a watchful silence that nipped and worried at the edges of his mind. As the afternoon waned, he found that he’d grown quiet, ignoring the smee’s incessant gripes and philosophizing as the mules plodded on.
It was nearly twilight and they were coming over a barren rise when Max finally saw his first bird of the day. It streaked past the wagon, a large crow whose throaty cries startled Toby from sleep.
“Wh-what’s that?” murmured the smee, blinking stupidly.
But Max was speechless.
He had never seen such an astonishing sprawl of bodies. So many corpses littered the vale below that they nearly dammed the river, forcing its waters to spill over its banks to turn half the plain into a bloody marsh. Broken bodies and equipment stretched as far as Max could see—a grisly feast for thousands of crows that flapped and hopped about the shocking carnage. When the slouching smee made to sit up, Max finally found his voice.